Chapter Text
"Lottie Banks, you leave that boy alone!" Bettie Trenton stood at her full height with her hands on her hips. "He clearly doesn't like that." She felt sorry for Theodore Robinson's nephew, pinned and supine underneath her needlessly aggressive - and recently boy-crazy - cousin, Lottie.
"You make me." Lottie didn't like being told what to do.
Bettie stared her down. "Mr. Robinson is a guest of my father. And when your father finds out about your appalling manners, he will have your hide." Bettie pinched Lottie's ear to pull her off her prey.
"Fine! I'm going!" Lottie shook off her cousin and stormed back to the house with two sets of eyes watching her back.
Bettie turned back to Jack and held her hand out to help him up. He looked at her sullenly. "What? Are you sore because a girl trapped you or because a girl rescued you?"
"I'm not sore."
"Oh, sure. I can see very clearly that you aren't sore. Why didn't you defend yourself?"
"I don't hit girls."
"No, I suppose you shouldn't." Jack took her hand and she pulled him up. "Come on, then. I'll walk you out of here."
"I don't need help. I can go by myself."
"Then, it won't bother you to know that Lottie is hiding just around the corner waiting for you."
His face is precious. Oh, bless him, she thinks. She does feel at least a little bad about feeling amused that their houseguest has been traumatized during his short visit.
"I think I'll join you after all."
"We can go the long way to make sure we avoid her. Have you seen the rest of the estate?"
He shook his head.
Bettie took her role as host seriously. She was the oldest of the children, including the ones who were visiting for summer holidays. She was 11 years old - at least a whole year older than Jack.
"I'll show you around then."
She showed him how to get to the stables and to the lake. Then she took him to her mother's gardens. She pointed out the peacocks on the grounds. The ended up at her favorite reading spot. "Do you like poetry, Jack?" Bettie pulled a well loved looking Leaves of Grass from her pocket.
"I don't know any" He squished his face.
"You might like this one..." she flicked through some pages to find the poem she wanted to share.
"A noiseless, patient spider,
I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated:
Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;
Ever unreeling them - ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing - seeking the spheres, to connect them;
Till the bridge you will need, be form'd - till the ductile anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul."
Jack didn't understand it at all. It just sounded like some funny words.
"People really like that stuff?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Why can't they talk like normal people?"
"You'll understand it when you are older."
Jack glowered at her. He didn't like when he couldn't understand something. He especially didn't like being talked down to by another kid.
Bettie looked over to see him sulking again.
"She didn't do it right. It isn't supposed to hurt."
"What do you mean?"
"Loads of poetry is written all about kisses and romance. When it is done right, it is all so wonderful." Bettie pontificated in her most mature voice.
"I don't believe you."
"If I promise not to throw you down on the ground like Lottie did, would you like me to show you?"
Jack squinted his eyes and balled up his hands into fists inside his pockets. "No, it was horrible. Really horrible. Why would you do that? Why would anyone do that to another person?"
"If you're chicken, just say so. I was just trying to help."
"I'm not chicken."
"Bawk bawk bawk." She teased him.
She saw him turn bright red and stopped. "I'm sorry. You aren't chicken. I wouldn't like it if Lottie kissed me either. But you know what they say about falling off a horse..."
"I don't have a horse."
"No, silly. Its a saying: "If you fall off a horse, you need to just get right back on." It means if you have a bad experience, you need to try it again so that you don't become scared of things in the future."
Jack looked at her skeptically. She seemed nicer than the other girl. And he wasn't chicken.
"Alright."
"Close your eyes."
Jack squinted his eyes so they were almost but not totally closed.
She laughed. "I know you can see. Close your eyes for real."
He looked at her again and nibbled at his bottom lip while he was thinking about it. He wasn't so sure about this.
Jack swallowed, took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. Nothing.
He counted to five. Still nothing. He opened one eye to see what was happening.
She was still standing there in front of him, smiling at him nicely. "No really, I'll do it this time. Close your eyes."
He closed his eyes. Bettie kissed him sweetly - both of her lips on both of his lips - and then pulled back. Jack opened his eyes.
"See, it wasn't horrible, was it?"
Jack shook his head no.
Bettie turned and started walking toward the house. Jack caught up to her and walked next to her. "Look at you, Jack Robinson. You are just like that noiseless, patient spider, aren't you?"
He wasn't sure what she meant by that but it sounded nice.
6th September, 1929 - noon
Dr. Elizabeth "Mac" Macmillan is not a woman who easily shocked. At this particular moment, she is speechless. And livid.
She had taken the tram to visit Detective Inspector Jack Robinson to review the medical report of a case they closed some time ago. The prosecution had asked for assistance in preparing details against evidence collected for the prosecution. She also wanted to see if Jack had thought about taking up a certain offer delivered to him just a few hours ago, along with a kiss that should have knocked him silly.
Imagine her surprise when she sees no one other than Jack-Bloody-Robinson having an intimate (!) lunch with a woman she has never seen. They are on Dodds Street, around the corner from City South police station. It was merely hours after he said good bye to the woman who was supposed to be the woman of his dreams. And there he was! In the window! Speaking just inches away from another woman's beautiful face.
She had to walk away quickly to start processing what it was that she just saw. There was no way in hell that this woman was a relative, not that Mac knew anything about his family. Or friends. But she could easily tell that these two were more than friends. Dammit.
What is she going to do now? She knows what she wants to do. Strangle him!
No, scratch that. If she strangles him, there won't be any wounds to throw salt into.
Mac walked around the block to calm down. She was vaguely aware that people were either stepping off the curb or crossing the street all together to get out of her way. What the hell was he thinking? Jack Robinson finally gets what he wants and he has someone else?
He looks happy. Shit!
Mac is almost too busy shooting daggers into the back of Jack's head to notice his lunch companion glance over. Mac's eyes go completely round as she watches that woman reach over to hold his hand. And stroke it!
Mac pivots on her heel and tries walking around the block again in the other direction. The woman was stunning. And stylish. And had eyes for Jack - and Jack only. How the hell does he do it?
And, where's a damn bar when you need one? She continues to pace away from the restaurant window. She stops to light a cigarette.
"Share your light?" Mac catches a withering gaze coming from a pair of cinnamon-colored eyes straight into hers. Jack's lunch date is as tall as she is. Light brown hair, curled elegantly and pinned up. Exquisitely tailored skirt suit draping over a shapely figure.
"Well, that was quite a look you were sharing with me a few moments ago. Since we haven't met, am I to assume that you may know my lunch companion?"
"Unfortunately" replied Mac. She isn't one to go off-hinge, especially on the basis of circumstantial evidence. An exception is made in this case.
"I see. Might you happen to be a friend of Miss Phryne Fisher?"
"A very good one."
"Excellent. I'm a very good friend of Jack Robinson."
Mac caved first. "Dr. Elizabeth Macmillan."
"Mrs. Bettie Stadler. So..."
"So." Mac doesn't know where to start so she begins in a huff. "He just bloody saw off my best friend, who is expecting him to come after her. I didn't expect him to see him having an intimate lunch with another woman."
"Well, my best friend just professed his love for some bloody woman who had already broken his heart at least once before going off and leaving the damn country with no known return date."
The two women squared up with each other, neither feeling particularly friendly.
"Right. I need a drink."
"Good. You're buying."
The two women return to the restaurant, order their respective drinks and sit down across from each other at a table. Mac leans back against the back of the chair, one elbow over the arm, places the cut crystal surface against her forehead and looks to the opposing wall. Bettie sits upright, cross-legged with pursed lips watching the door.
The two women let minutes of silence pass.
"Really, it is between them. Not my business."
"Nor mine. But here we are."
Both women are still bristling. Mac has clearly implied that she believes Bettie to be Jack's lover.
Bettie speaks first. "Have you and she ever..."
Mac throws her eyes up at the ceiling and lets them fall quickly to the table before turning her head over to the right side. "We might have..." After a short pause, she adds "Have you and he..."
"We might have." Bettie crosses her arms in addition to her legs before looking at the other side of the room.
They wait a few more moments.
Each woman notes that the other cares very deeply about their respective friend, whom each has likely shared some physical intimacy and not about to reveal confidences unnecessarily.
Bettie speaks. "It would appear we should understand each other."
Mac responds. "It would appear so."
"Does she really want him to follow her?"
Mac raised her eyebrows and nodded. "Yup."
"Then why'd she go?"
"It's complicated. Is he going to go after her?"
"He thinks she was speaking in metaphor."
"God, they are both idiots."
For the first time, the women smile.
"Why were you standing outside?"
"I was coming over to discuss a case." Mac looks at the ceiling. "And share some steamer schedules. In case he was interested."
"Hand 'em over."
The two women cautiously share their thoughts about their mutual friends. About how horribly it could turn out. About how happy it could make them. Ultimately - even though it was none of their business - they agreed that Jack and Phryne were genuinely in love and wanted to be together.
"Has Miss Fisher given any thought at all as to how Jack is supposed to adhere to her wishes?"
"She's clueless."
"If he knew how he'd get over there, does he have means to do so?"
"Probably not." Bettie acknowledged. "But, I do."
6th September, 1929 - 2pm
There isn't a man alive who would respond with anything other than fear for one's life in the following situation: Two very beautiful and very determined women parade into your office. They close the door behind them and sit down in front of you without asking permission. Then they look at you. Straight at you. Expecting something.
Jack Robinson is a man. He is currently alive. He is worried about staying that way.
Also worrying: When did they meet?
Mac pulled out P&O, Blue Star and Orient Line steamer ship schedules from her bag and placed them on Jack's desk.
The two women were sitting in front of him expectantly. They are in the exact same pose: legs and arms crossed, right over left.
"It may not be a metaphor, Jack." said Bettie.
"Definitely, not a metaphor, Jack." said Mac.
"As it happens, I'm going to Western Union. I have an urgent telegram to post." Bettie looks at Jack.
"This is Phryne's location." Mac continues to look at Jack as she hands a hard over to Bettie.
Bettie opens up the P&O brochure and points out a date. November first. She writes a brief note on the other side of the card Mac just handed to her. She slides the note over to Jack.
"P&O 1 November 1929
Correct meaning?"
"Shall I send this telegram off as long as I'm there?" Bettie asked.
Bettie held Jack's eyes.
He wanted to go. He just couldn't admit it. His eyes darted back and forth between hers. What did he need? Permission?
Jack must have found what he was looking for. His eyes flickered and he dipped his chin just slightly. Bettie knew him well enough to take this invisible gesture as agreement.
"Very good." She picked up the card and left the inspector and the coroner to discuss their case.
"Now," Bettie thought to herself. "Let's see how quickly Mata Hari can return a damn telegraph..."